Loss
by Stickki
Summary: The Collector base is destroyed, but the cost is horrifying; only two members of the team survive. Will they fall apart as well?


**Hello.**

**Been working a lot lately with Robert Falcon(of FanFiction(dot)net ), and we were just talking, when he mentioned an idea of his; Shepard dead, most of the squad dead after Collector Base. He asked me who were the only ones who should survive. I said, of course, Tali and Garrus. He agreed. Immediately after that, I began to see this scene in my head, and figured that I had to write it down.**

**Wrote it down, and showed it to RF, who proofread it...**

**Hope you like it enough to review...**

* * *

The glass shatters against the wall. Dark red liquid runs down the wall like a trail of blood. Blood… Blood was something he knew very intimately. Blood of his enemies, of his allies, of his friends. Of himself. His whole life was covered with blood, and it was suffocating him.

Especially now. Especially now that the one element, the one thing keeping him from drowning in it, was gone. He was gone, again. Shepard was dead, this time for good. He wouldn't come back again. He had his peace.

Shepard was his friend, his brother. And he had nothing of his. All that was left was this sterile, disgusting mockery of a room; the Captain's Cabin, Shepard's cabin. Only thing of his in there was the few cases of beer he had reserved for celebration. Celebration for the Collector Base, for its destruction. Yeah, it was gone, but there was nothing worth celebrating in this world. Nothing.

Garrus took another bottle from the case, and stared at it disgustedly. This was all Shepard had, a few bottles. He was worth more. Garrus began squeezing the bottle with all his might, and the bottle shattered, shards digging into his hand. He did not even flinch, squeezing his fist harder to make the shards go even deeper. He opened his hand, and saw the blue blood trickling from the wounds as alcohol entered into them. It began to hurt even more as it did. Stinging pain. Garrus didn't care, he simply pulled the shards out, one by one. He did not make even a sound.

All the pain, and he felt nothing.

His vision blurred. He was beginning to see double. Garrus knew he probably shouldn't drink these human liquids. They could mess up his internal organs badly, or cause an allergic reaction or something. He didn't care; he wouldn't need to live much longer anyway, probably only one, two years max. With the Reapers looming in the future, there seemed to be nothing worth living for. What the hell was he supposed to do? Just carry on? Maybe… But he wouldn't. He wasn't strong enough for that. He wasn't Shepard. He wasn't a hero. He was just someone who needed a hero, just like everyone else.

And now he was sitting in Shepard's cabin, drinking alone. Pathetic... He was completely pathetic. He didn't even have the decency to die with the man...

Why did Shepard leave him behind? Why wasn't he on the final strike team? Garrus would have loved to die with him, for him. Anytime, anywhere.

But Shepard had decided… And the answer had been no…

…

The barrel was fascinating. Like a dark hole that dealt death. One move from one's finger, and somebody would die.

She would die.

Tali kept staring into that dark hole, wondering if it would hurt, and how much.

Why? Why not? There was nothing else to do, nothing that mattered. Not even the Reapers. Let the galaxy burn, she had nothing to fight for. Nothing as good as him. Nothing even close. And he was gone… forever... There would be no miraculous return from the grave this time. He had been blown away with the monsters he fought... He deserved better than that. He was better than that.

And for all that… he got nothing.

And now… she had nothing.

Faced with that future, crazy chances seemed all the more appealing. Humans believed in something called Heaven, a place where all go after death. If that was true, she could still be with him… forever. The chances were slim, but even if it didn't work it was better than this. She was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of seeing death… tired of life. At least, she would have some rest. She wouldn't need to be tired anymore.

She looked at the pistol one last time. She had never imagined that her death would come by the pull of such a familiar finger, by her own hand.

She raised the pistol to her temple.

And, without hesitation, fired.

…

Three fingers wrap around something soft. It has a feeling of leather, yet feels somehow artificial. It isn't warm, but neither is it cold. It is a wrist.

There is a loud noise, and the object emitting the sound erupts a jet of flame. The smaller metal object, like a grain of sand accelerated to insane speeds, sparks as it strikes the wall. It is gone as quickly as it came.

A palm strikes something hard. It moves, knocked away from the impact. The rest of the body is thrown with it. A helmeted head leads the way to the deck and she hits the floor hard. She tries to soften the fall with her hand, her shoulder absorbing the impact. The shoulder is wrenched from its socket, her strength vanishing in a cloud of pain as she finally crashes into the deck. The pain blurs her vision, blackness reaching into the corners of her consciousness, but no matter how much it hurt, it didn't matter. She begins to rise, slowly, but manages to regain her footing. She glares at her aggressor.

"Give it back, Garrus..." she says ominously.

The turian's eyes burn with anger, and with something else she cannot recognize. He looks at her defiantly. "Why? So you can do what?"

She feels the tears welling in her eyes, her heart pounding. She hesitates saying the words, but they come out anyway. "I'll kill you, Garrus..." she says quietly. She's not sure if she means it, if it will even have any effect, or if she even cares. She just wants the gun, just wants to do something.

Or so she thinks.

"Just try," the turian retorts. Anger burns within him, as does the alcohol. She would just... She dared to... He should hit her again. He wants to.

She feels herself cracking, about to crumble from the strain. She fights it; if she falls apart, she doesn't know if she can pull herself together again anymore. Her teeth clench together as she fights against the wishes of her eyes, the wishes to shed tears. Her head lowers. "You don't understand..." she mutters. How could he even begin to? He couldn't possibly understand what she felt, how she felt towards Him. Shepard, her John.

"I understand fine, Tali, " he mutters, his voice still trembling. This trembling is different though, no longer caused by anger. It's from something else. "You were just..." his words trail off, and he starts to glance around the room, a desperate look in his eyes. He brushes her off, backs to the wall, and crashes to the ground. He shakes his head, the desperation in his eyes now turned into sadness… great sadness. "You were gonna leave me all alone," he says quietly, hoarsely.

"I..." Now her words trail off. Her first instinct is to tell him how she is sorry. Sorry for not thinking, sorry for forgetting him, sorry for doing this to him. But she's not sorry. At all. "I'm not sorry."

He doesn't answer, nor look at her. He just stares blankly at nothing, which describes the way he feels perfectly. Nothing. Because nothing matters. The pistol drops to the floor, resting next to him.

She continues. "I can't..." her words trail off again, as she fights the tears. She can't crack, not now. If she could just have the pistol, maybe she could be with him again. Whatever she found, maybe it was better than this. "I don't want to continue. I just want it to end," she says quietly, fighting to hide the shaking of her voice.

"It won't change anything," he answers, shaking his head. If it did, if it would make Shepard live again, he'd be the first one to pull the trigger. His life for his. It would be a fair trade, but there was no such option. There never was. Nothing was never fair.

"Maybe not," she replies, her voice shaking already. She can't keep herself from crumbling for much longer, already feeling the first tear falling down on her cheek. "...But it's better than this."

He agrees. Everything is better than this, but it was not their choice. They still had to defeat those monsters lurking at the rim of the galaxy. After that, nothing mattered. Just one more job, and it would be done. He would be done. There was nothing else he could ever want again.

It just wasn't their choice. "Shepard would want us to keep going. He wouldn't want you to die." He doesn't know if he even believes it himself, even though it was the truth. There was still much to do. It wasn't their time yet, but... hopefully it would be soon.

Despite her best efforts, Tali finally cracks. All the emotions she had been trying to hold at bay break free. "I don't care what he wants!" she yells, as loud as she can. Garrus looks at her, his expression unchanged. "He did what he wanted, and look where it got him! Where it got us!" Tali starts to break down further, her knees buckling and dropping her to the deck. "He left us all alone." There was only one thing which could describe why. Why she felt like this. Just one. "I loved him, Garrus." She gestures at her face. "He finally saw me...and now he's just..." She can't speak anymore, she's done.

He returns to his feet, walking to her, kneeling beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her whole body shakes as the emotions are unleashed, and his hand shakes with her. "I loved him too," he says quietly. A single tear runs down his cheek and hits the ground. His eyes are drawn to where it had fallen. He can't remember ever crying before.

Turians don't cry. They control their emotions, and take great satisfaction in doing so, as he did. They are not like the other races, soft and weak beings who weep at every chance they have.

Or so he had thought...

He sees his own face from the reflection of the tear, wishing that the face was someone else's. "He was my brother. I loved him."

She raises her head and looks into his dark eyes. She can see the tear, and follows the trail with her eyes all the way to the floor. She sees her reflection, and also wishes that it were someone else's. But wishing doesn't help. She looks back to his eyes, and wraps her arms around his neck, feeling his arms wrapping around her waist. "What are we going to do?" she asks, her voice shaking, broken.

He doesn't know the answer to that question. He only knows what he's going to do, and what he needs to do it. "Not leave each other."

She agrees.


End file.
